


today we're younger (than we're ever gonna be)

by jadedpearl



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Fluff, M/M, coworkers to lovers...?, idk its real cute, restaurant AU, there are other hq characters but i don't want to clog up peoples searches, theres also briefly (BRIEFLY) mentioned kuroken but not tagging for the same reasons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-09
Updated: 2018-08-09
Packaged: 2019-06-24 07:04:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15625335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jadedpearl/pseuds/jadedpearl
Summary: When the last customer leaves, they turn the lights back up and play pop music instead of the mellow acoustic guitar that Bokuto is a little sick of by now. Bokuto makes it a competition to see who can put the chairs up fastest, and Akaashi doesn’t play, only adjusts them just so and gets the broom. Iwaizumi is in the walk-in doing inventory, and Bokuto feels a little like it’s only the two of them in the world.....Akaashi and Bokuto work together, and Bokuto doesn't know how to tell him how he feels.





	today we're younger (than we're ever gonna be)

**Author's Note:**

> It is stupidly hard to name a fictitious restaurant something that sounds believable

“I’m heating up more cider if anyone wants some,” Suga calls from the kitchen. Bokuto tries to sit forward, but only manages to lift his mug in the air from his spot on Suga’s armchair. Daichi collects it from him and disappears into the kitchen. He’s gone for a few minutes, and Kuroo whistles when he emerges with Suga. Daichi, to his credit, doesn’t react, only rolls his eyes and hands Bokuto his mug before sitting on the arm of the couch next to Suga.

It’s the annual holiday party that the management at Antoine’s throws, but it’s Bokuto’s first. Most everyone’s left, but Oikawa, Iwaizumi, Suga, and Akaashi are all still here, half enveloped by Suga’s couch. They had a plus one policy, but Bokuto had secured permission to bring both Kuroo and Kenma, and somehow Kuroo had convinced Kenma to stay, because there he is, disappearing in between two couch cushions. 

They’re all chatting over spiced wine and cider when: “Oh!” Kuroo says suddenly, struggling to sit up straight. “I should tell you all how Bo got this job!”

“I don’t get why you need to tell  _ us _ . We’re the ones who hired him,” Iwaizumi points out.

“But you don’t know the lead up,” Kuroo insists. “You don’t know how he got to that point.” Iwaizumi rolls his eyes but doesn’t say anything else, which is basically giving Kuroo permission to proceed.  Everyone else sort of leans in, and Kuroo basks in it, the asshole. 

Bokuto squirms a little, because it’s one of the few embarrassing stories about himself that  _ actually _ embarasses him. Plus–Bokuto glances at Akaashi–he’d rather  _ some people  _ not hear it. But he can tell Kuroo’s excited to tell this story, because other than him and Kenma, there’s no one else in the room who’s heard it. 

“Okay, so,” Kuroo says, like he starts all his stories, “Bokuto and I were at Antoine’s to celebrate the end of Kenma’s gen ed classes–cause now he can actually take stuff for his major, and all–and–” 

“So why wasn’t Kenma there?” Suga says, eyebrows pushed together. 

“He didn’t want to go.”

Oikawa bursts out laughing, but Kenma just shrugs and lets himself sink even deeper into Suga’s overstuffed couch. 

“ _ Anyway, _ ” Kuroo says pointedly, and continues. “We were seated and all, and then we were looking at the menu,  _ and then _ –”

“Wait, I was here for this.” It’s Akaashi who’s interrupting, only this time Kuroo doesn’t impatiently continue on with the story. “I was waiting on your table. I forgot until now.” 

Kuroo looks over at Bokuto. Either he just realized that  _ maybe  _ he shouldn’t be telling this, or he’s interpreted Bokuto’s frantic blinks/morse-code-SOSs, because he says, “And then. Bo was, uh, so inspired by the salade nicoise that he asked for an application right then and there.” 

“Kou-chan doesn’t even  _ like  _ salad,” Oikawa says, faced absurdly scrunched up in drunk confusion. 

“ _ Exactly, _ ” Kuroo says sagely. 

“That is like Bokuto,” Suga says, but everyone leans back in their chairs because Kuroo hangs around Antoine’s enough for them to know that his stories are usually wildly exaggerated and extremely entertaining. This one was sort of short lived, to be honest, and overrated, judging by how excited he had been to tell it. 

“Sorry bro,” Kuroo whispers after everyone has dispersed to get more wine or cider. “It totally slipped my mind.”

“’S fine,” Bokuto says, the cider making his eyes heavy. “No worries.” 

Kuroo claps him on the shoulder and goes to sit on the couch with Kenma. Bokuto snorts as he immediately sinks about a foot into the cushion, and Kenma wrinkles his nose. 

Bokuto looks around the room, the alcohol blurring his senses slightly, pleasantly. His eyes find Akaashi, who’s sitting on a stool at the counter. He’s also got a mug of cider with that he’s warming his hands around, and as Bokuto’s watching, he laughs at something Oikawa said. His cheeks are slightly flushed from the alcohol, and Bokuto wants to get up and join him, but his limbs are heavy and Suga’s armchair is so cushy that he finds himself drifting off instead. 

——

 

"Are you hungover?" Bokuto stage whispers as he's wiping down glasses. Akaashi, who's closing out table three, pauses and glances at the Suga, who's wrapping his scarf around his neck in preparation to to inventory in outdoor storage.    


"No," he says eventually. "It was only cider."    


"Oh," Bokuto says, then: "I am."    


"I know," Akaashi says, printing the ticket, leaning behind the computer to tear it off the machine. "You said so when you came in. Don't whine about it," he adds, when Bokuto opens his mouth. "You shouldn't have done tequila shots with Kuroo-san when when Suga went to bed."    


"You don't get me and Kuroo and tequila shots," Bokuto huffs, stacking the glasses to put away. "We hadn't done them in forever.”

“Because you’d end up in county jail overnight if you did,” Akaashi says, clipping the ticket to the credit card with a pen and striding out from behind the counter and to the floor. Bokuto laughs, turns around to set the stacks of glasses on the shelf. 

Later, Akaashi nudges the first aid kit that’s stashed under the counter with his foot. “You know where to find the painkillers.” 

Bokuto takes two Aspirin in the safety of the kitchen. Kyoutani tries to spray him with water from the dishwashing station, but Bokuto ducks, laughing, and dashes back out to make a cappuccino for table five. 

–––

 

A lot of the staff likes to complain about it, but Bokuto’s secretly glad that Antoine’s operates on a quarterly schedule–his shifts are the same every week, usually, which means that he works with Akaashi three nights a week, and they both close for two of them. 

Tonight, Akaashi is in a good mood. He’s never unpleasant when he’s not, but Bokuto likes when he smiles at his terrible jokes and lets the both of them empty salt shakers together, even if it’s less efficient. 

When the last customer leaves, they turn the lights back up–the managers like to keep it dim, to create ambiance–and play pop music instead of the mellow acoustic guitar that Bokuto is a little sick of by now. Bokuto makes it a competition to see who can put the chairs up fastest, and Akaashi doesn’t play, only adjusts them just so and gets the broom. Iwaizumi is in the walk-in doing inventory, and Bokuto feels a little like it’s only the two of them in the world. 

The kitchen staff leaves first. Akaashi finishes cleaning the espresso machine, then the coffee grinder. Bokuto sweeps the floor and wipes down the counter and makes sure everything out back is locked. Iwaizumi empties the cash register, makes sure the safe is locked, and ushers the both of them out. Bokuto winds his scarf around his neck while Suga sweeps his gaze across the restaurant for one last check that everything’s in its place. Akaashi is done buttoning his coat when Iwaizumi locks the door, and then it’s the three of them in the lull of night city life. The lights inside–still on, for the security cameras–cast Akaashi’s face in a warm glow. 

Not for the first time since starting work at Antoine’s, or even the first time tonight, Bokuto feels a warmth in his chest, the feeling that only comes when he’s aware just how happy he is to be in this moment, right now. It’s been happening more and more, he thinks, following Akaashi as he turns away and starts walking towards the bus stop. 

 

––––

 

Kuroo hangs out at Antoine’s and chats with the staff enough to be considered overstaying his welcome, but management turns a blind eye because he always pays for a meal (although Bokuto usually makes his drinks for free.) Another waiter might be annoyed, but seeing as Kuroo introduced Bokuto to Antoine’s in the first place, therefore indirectly getting him the job, Bokuto can’t see anything wrong with it. Plus, he and Kuroo are buddies.

Kuroo’s eating lunch at the bar today–or rather, he  _ was,  _ an hour or two ago. Now he’s just sitting on his stool, sipping at a tea and wiggling eyebrows at Bokuto whenever he’s behind the counter. 

“This is loitering,” Akaashi says, but Bokuto knows he won’t kick Kuroo out. 

“This isn’t loitering,” Kuroo says. “This is waiting for my honey to get off work.” He makes kissy faces at Bokuto and winks. Akaashi rolls his eyes and takes the water pitcher to do refills. Bokuto shrugs at Akaashi as he leaves the counter, as in a sort of  _ What can you do? _ , before leaning across the counter at Kuroo. 

“When are you going to tell him?” Kuroo stage whispers at Bokuto, enunciating each word slowly and carefully. 

Bokuto sees Akaashi out of the corner of his eye, all the way across the restaurant. “Tell who?” he whispers back, just as slow. 

“A-kaw-shi,” Kuroo says, just loud enough for Akaashi to turn his head to narrow his eyes at the both of them. Kuroo snickers and Bokuto socks him in the arm, giving Akaashi a pained smile. Akaashi turns back around. 

“What are we talking about?” Oikawa says, coming out of the kitchen to lean on the bar next to Bokuto. 

“Nunya,” Kuroo says, grinning when Oikawa scoffs indignantly. “Anyway, Bo, when do you get off?”

Bokuto squints at the clock hanging on the far side of the restaurant, above table five. “Four minutes. Let me take out the recycling, and I’m yours.” 

Three and a half minutes of struggling with the recycling bin behind Antoine’s later, Bokuto reenters the restaurant to see Kuroo and Akaashi talking–or rather, Kuroo is the one actually talking, and Akaashi is supplementing the conversation with a nod or two. 

“What are we talking about?” he asks, half curious, half terrified, and slings an arm around Kuroo’s shoulder. 

“Nothing,” Kuroo says, and Bokuto catches the corner of Akaashi’s mouth quirk up. Success. Sort of. 

Bokuto shrugs into his coat as they walk out the door, and he manages to catch a glance of Akaashi at the register, brows furrowed in concentration as he punches in someone’s order. 

Kuroo catches Bokuto’s smile and grins. “Aw. You’re too cute.”

Bokuto sighs. “Tell me about it.” 

 

–––––

 

Bokuto thinks his favorite thing about Antoine’s is that he’s actually friends with the people he works with–as in, see-each-other-out-of-work friends. Bokuto can’t help but like the people he works with, but he likes Iwaizumi more than most of his past bosses. From what Bokuto can gather, he was promoted to manager shortly before Bokuto started working at Antoine’s, and used to wait tables with the rest of the servers. He barks out orders like he’s been giving them all his life, but everyone else knows him from when he was one of them, which undermines his authority somewhat. Oikawa incessantly teases him, which Bokuto thought was strange until Akaashi told him that he and Iwaizumi are roommates, and have been working at Antoine’s together for years. 

The four of them–Akaashi, Iwaizumi, Oikawa–wind up at a bar on the way to the train stop where they part ways, sliding into a booth with sticky floors and cracked seats. Akaashi pulls his gloves off but keeps his coat on, while Bokuto immediately peels his heavy layers off. It was a busy night, but the four of them managed to close the restaurant in record time, and there’s a general feeling of lifted spirits despite the exhaustion that comes with the dinner rush. 

Iwaizumi treats them to a pitcher of beer, and they bump glasses messily. Akaashi surprises Bokuto by getting down almost half of his glass in one go, but at this point, Bokuto is used to being impressed by Akaashi. He wipes his mouth with a napkin and Oikawa whoops in admiration. 

 “So,” Oikawa says, after they’ve all gotten a few sips in. “What did you to say to that lady at four to get her to give you her number?” 

Bokuto puffs out his chest, somewhat proud. No one ever really goes out with customers who leave their numbers, but they keep a kind of score throughout each shift. Oikawa always comes out on top, but of the people who get numbers, he’s the only one who really counts.  

Iwaizumi snorts. “Why, Oikawa? Feeling competitive?”

Oikawa laughs. “As if,” he says, into his glass. 

“I didn’t do anything,” Bokuto says, feeling distinctly like Oikawa won’t listen. “It was my natural charm.”

“More like your natural  _ arms _ ,” Oikawa says, with a nod at Bokuto’s bicep, the sleeve of his shirt tight against his arm. 

“I work hard for these,” Bokuto sniffs. “But I wasn’t flirting with her.” He’s sort of nervous all of a sudden, glancing over at Akaashi, who’s just staring into the bottom of his beer glass like there’s a bug in it. Akaashi doesn’t see him do it, but Oikawa does.  _ Crap _ , Bokuto thinks, but miraculously, Oikawa doesn’t say anything, only quirks his eyebrows over his glass as he takes another drink. 

“Kaa-chan,” he says a second later, wiping the foam off his lip with the back of his hand, “doesn’t anyone ever give you their number?” 

Akaashi wrinkles his nose and slides Oikawa a napkin before shrugging. “Maybe I just don’t say anything when people do, because I don’t want to hear you whining about it.” 

Iwaizumi chokes into his drink. Bokuto laughs and Oikawa adjusts his bangs and tries not to look too indignant. It doesn’t work. 

When Iwaizumi recovers, he lifts his glass. “Antoine’s,” he says, and Bokuto energetically lifts his own. “Antoine’s!”

 

–––––

 

There’s a certain feeling Bokuto gets when a bus passes by the storefront windows at night. For a few seconds, he can see people in illuminated squares taking up his view of the world outside Antoine’s, and then they’re gone. 

It’s the same sort of feeling he gets around Akaashi. Sometimes he looks at him and he thinks maybe this is it, maybe he knows him, at least a little, but then the moment is gone and they’re just co-workers again. It’s strange, because he feels like he’s gotten to know every at Antoine’s pretty well–everyone  _ but  _ Akaashi, who he wants to know most of all. 

Akaashi isn’t the most guarded person he’s ever met–he comes to parties, sometimes, and goes out with to bars with staff, after all–but Bokuto still gets the distinct impression that he’s very keen on keeping his work and personal life separate. He doesn’t talk about his family, or if he has any pets; never mentions friends he might have outside of Antoine’s, never has hangouts at his apartment–although, that might just be a self preservation thing. Oikawa cleaned out all the wine Bokuto had and Kyoutani broke the handle on his bathroom sink the last time he had work friends over. 

Still, it’s impossible for Bokuto not to catch all the things that fall through the cracks. Akaashi takes his coffee with a ton of cream and sugar; Akaashi wishes there were more pasta items on the menu, Akaashi hates when people carry their dogs through the restaurant to get to outdoor seating. 

Bokuto is aware, more than most things, that the Akaashi he knows is only the version that’s been presented to him. He’s aware that he knows “work” Akaashi, but–he likes him anyway. 

Which is why it’s surprising when Akaashi initiates a conversation that doesn’t have to do with wrong up orders, or dessert menus, or  _ I think your table is trying to get your attention _ –it’s the first time he’s talked about anything not Antoine’s. 

“Bokuto-san–you’re in college, right?” 

Bokuto almost drops a coffee cup. When he turns his head to look at Akaashi, the other man is leaning on the counter, curls messy from a long day–but his eyes are on Bokuto, clearly waiting for his answer. 

Bokuto coughs. “Um, yes. I’m a third year.”

“What do you study?” 

“Civil Engineering.” Bokuto feels like he’s being grilled. “Uh, how did you know I’m a student?” 

Akaashi shrugs, a languid movement. “Kenma is. You brought up class once. I just assumed.” 

“Are you in school, Akaashi?” Akaashi is a year younger than him, and he’s the smartest person that Bokuto knows, so it stands to reason. 

Akaashi pushes himself off of the counter.  “I was.” The tone of his voice suggests that he doesn’t want to talk about it, and Bokuto’s about to embarrassedly assure him that he doesn’t have to answer anything he doesn’t want to, when he continues. “I had to take a semester off for financial reasons.” 

“Oh,” Bokuto says, feeling stupid, and blurts, “Oh ok, because you’re like...the smartest person I know!” 

Akaashi laughs. Bokuto beams.  _ Success. _ “Thank you. You know, I could–”

He’s interrupted by a passing ambulance. Akaashi’s face is illuminated with red and blue for a few seconds as it passes. The sirens sound in their ears for longer. The moment stretches out, and then it’s broken. 

Bokuto watches the ambulance until it disappears. “Sorry, what were you saying?” he says, turning back to Akaashi.

Akaashi shrugs again. “Nothing much. It’s just, I think people don’t give you enough credit.”

“They don’t,” Bokuto says without thinking. “Just cause I’m loud.”

“Right,” Akaashi continues. “Because I think you’re really smart, Bokuto-san.” 

_ Oh. _ Bokuto is somewhat dumbstruck, but Akaashi offers him a smile anyway, and leaves the safety from behind the counter to venture out onto the floor and take an order. 

_ Nothing much, huh? _

Bokuto is still grinning when he goes to bed that night, even though he’s opening the next morning.

 

–––––

 

Bokuto’s washing dishes when Akaashi enters the matchbox sized kitchen. His eyes track the walls, clearly searching for something, before his gaze settles on Bokuto with a note of surprise. 

“I didn’t know you worked in the kitchen,” Akaashi says, leaning against the wall. Bokuto can see the exhaustion pressed into the bags under his eyes. 

“Covering for Kyoutani.” Bokuto puffs out his chest. “I wanted more shifts,” he adds by way of explanation.

Akaashi hums, reaches over to pluck a pair of scissors off a shelf, and pushes himself off the wall in preparation to face the dinner rush. “Wish me luck.”

Bokuto salutes him, and then he’s gone. He can still see him through the window, curls mussed and sticking to his temples slightly. Later, when Akaashi’s waiting at the window for his order to come out, Bokuto catches his eye and waggles his eyebrows. Akaashi doesn’t say anything, only takes table two’s order when it’s set in the window, but Bokuto thinks he catches him smiling.

 

–––

 

“So why don’t you just tell him that you like him?” Kuroo asks. “You never seemed to have any trouble before.” 

If he’s referring to how Bokuto will ask someone on a date, no problem, if he thinks they’re cute, then no, he doesn’t have a problem. “See, that’s the thing,” Bokuto says, “Akaashi isn’t some guy, or girl, I guess, I just like, saw on the first day of Calc, or something. Like I actually know him, which makes it hard, somehow.” 

Kuroo hums, wind trying and failing to dent his wild hair. They’re on the swings at a park near campus. It’s just cold enough that there aren’t any kids out, but not so cold that they can’t handle it. Swings make Bokuto kind of nauseous, but there’s nothing better than wind in his face and blood rushing from his toes to his head and back to help him think. Kuroo and him are trying to find an answer to the puzzle that is Akaashi, but so far, no luck. 

“I don’t think he’d want to go out with someone from work, anyway.” Bokuto says, dejected, scraping his boots against the ground to slow down. “He won’t even tell me if he prefers dogs or cats. I’m starting to think he just doesn’t care.” 

“He might be a dog person,” Kuroo offers consolingly, stopping besides him. 

“You think?” Bokuto says, looking over hopefully. 

“Yeah bro,” Kuroo says, reaching over to pat his shoulder, “I do.” 

“Thanks.” Bokuto focuses on his boots, drawing patterns with them in the dirt at his feet. “It’s just, I don’t think it’s going to happen. Even  _ if _ he was willing to date someone from work, I’m probably–”

“Bo,” Kuroo cuts him off, sounding stern. “You’re super built, good looking, and funny, and he said he thought you were smart. Which,” he continues sharply, when Bokuto looks up, “you are, so I don’t want to hear about how you’re not good enough. I want you to do what you do best–be yourself, and ask him out.” 

“You think I’m super handsome?” 

“One hundred percent.” 

“You think I’m smart?” 

“You have the highest grades in whatever math you’re taking, so yeah, I do.”

“You think I’m super built?” 

“Bo,” Kuroo says, making intense eye contact. “That’s just objective fact. It doesn’t make sense, on account of your diet, but it’s the truth. Listen,” he says, laying a hand across his chest, “If I wasn’t so enamored with Kenma,  _ I  _ would date you.” 

“Really?” Bokuto is doubtful.

“Serious as a heart attack, yes. Which is why,” Kuroo says, standing up, “You should just ask him out. If he says no, you move on.” 

Bokuto considers it. “Okay,” he says, standing up alongside Kuroo. “I guess you’re right.” 

“I know I’m right. Let’s get coffee.” 

 

––––––

 

It is, of course, easier said than done. It just seems wrong to ask Akaashi to go to a movie sometime at work because one) Would Akaashi even want to see a movie? and two) If Akaashi said no (real possibility) then the rest of the rest of the shift would be awkward and uncomfortable. He doesn’t want to put him in that position.  

Which means that Bokuto has to ask him  _ outside  _ of work, but he only ever sees Akaashi right before and after his shifts, which doesn’t work, so if he was going to ask him  _ outside  _ of work, he’d have to set up a time to do it, and wouldn’t that just be like a date, anyway? Like, Oh, Akaashi, could we meet up for coffee so I can ask you a real quick question? 

It’s all exhausting to think about. Bokuto’s brain, which is always going a million miles a minute, is having trouble finding a solution to this one. 

Plus, even if he found an ideal time, he doesn’t know how to begin to ask Akaashi out on a date. What if he asked Akaashi out for drinks after work, and Akaashi thought he meant as a group and invited Suga or Oikawa or Iwaizumi? What if he asked Akaashi to get coffee with him, and he denied that he even liked coffee? What if, Bokuto asked him to dinner, and Akaashi didn’t even say anything, only stared at him, and then never talked to him again? 

The possibilities are endless. Even Kuroo can tell that Bokuto is struggling–he keeps sending Bokuto these encouraging, yet sympathetic looks whenever he’s hanging out at Antoine’s. 

Finally, Bokuto sees an opening. Their schedules line up, miraculously, so that Akaashi is working a morning shift, and Bokuto is working a night shift. Bokuto can just get to work a little early and then ask Akaashi if he wants to get dinner with him sometime soon, right as he’s leaving. It's not ideal, but at this point, it’s the only thing he can think of. By the time another chance like this one rolls around, either Akaashi and Bokuto will have either died of old age or stopped working at Antoine’s. 

Bokuto spends the night before psyching himself up. By the time he finally does fall asleep, it’s hours past his usual bedtime–and when he wakes up, it’s with a splitting headache and a fever. Frost creeps at his windows, and he curls in on himself, pulls the blankets tighter. 

When he calls Antoine’s, it’s Akaashi that answers the phone. 

“Akaashi,” he says, a near whisper, “can I speak to a manager?” 

“This is the quietest I’ve ever heard you,” he replies, and then the phone is muted. Iwaizumi’s voice cuts through a minute or two later. 

“What’s up?” It’s ten in the morning, and Iwaizumi already sounds stressed. The noise level suggests that the restaurant is packed. 

“I don’t think I can come in tonight. I have a fever,” Bokuto manages to rasp out.  

Iwaizumi heaves a sigh. “You do sound awful. Yeah, you shouldn’t be handling food. I’ll see if I can–hold on–” The sound on the other end if muffled, as if Iwaizumi has pulled the phone away from his ear and pressed it against his chest. Bokuto can sort of hear Akaashi’s voice, but can’t make out words. “Hey,” Iwaizumi says, coming back to the phone. “Akaashi says he’ll cover your shift tonight.” 

“Oh,” Bokuto says, surprised but unable to convey it in his state. “Tell him thanks for me.” 

“Will do. Feel better, and tell me if you can’t make your shift Tuesday.” 

“I will,” Bokuto says, and then Iwaizumi hangs up. 

It’s only after the phone call that Bokuto remembers what he was supposed to do today. He groans, instantly regrets the effect it has on his throat, and pulls the blankets over his head. 

–––––

 

“Fate,” Bokuto declares dramatically, “is telling me no.” 

“Fate’s a bitch,” Kuroo calls from the kitchen. “Don’t listen to her.”

Bokuto rests his head on Kuroo’s kitchen table and tries to identify the different types of crumbs on the wooden surface. Kuroo doesn’t bake, so that can’t be the remnants of a shortbread cookie–unless he bought shortbread cookies–in which case the bastard didn’t  _ share  _ any–and after all Bokuto has done–

“Hey,” Kuroo says, swatting the back of Bokuto’s head with his oven mitt. “Stop judging my table.” 

“I’m not, just trying to figure out when you turned traitor,” Bokuto sniffs, sitting up indignantly. 

Kuroo doesn’t respond to that, only gives him a funny look. “Have some quiche. There’s bacon in it.” 

It’s delicious, but Bokuto still feels like him and Akaashi just aren’t meant to be. “Thanks. It’s really good.” Kuroo has been cooking more lately, every since Kenma mentioned that he likes when he cooks. 

Kuroo ruffles his hair. “It’ll work out. Thanks for the recipe, by the way.” 

“Yeah, don’t tell anyone that I took it from Antoine’s,” Bokuto says. “They’d fire me for sure.”

 

–––

  
  


Akaashi and Bokuto’s closing night shift rolls around, and for the first time, maybe ever, Bokuto finds himself dreading it, a little bit. Akaashi doesn’t  _ know _ , per say, that Bokuto was going to ask him out, but he still feels awkward about it. He’s never been described as quiet or subdued before, but tonight it probably the closest he’s come to both. 

Akaashi, on the other hand, is oddly talkative–or, scratch that, he’s oddly talkative with Bokuto. He’s still the same reserved, polite self in front of the customers and other staff, but he’s oddly indulgent in Bokuto’s stories and jokes and general attempt at impressing him. He can’t tell if its working, but Akaashi listens to him. 

It’s towards the end of the night, and Akaashi and Bokuto are rolling silverware together. Bokuto is regaling him with the story of how he and Kuroo had to fix a suit of armor at a strange party after one of them bumped into it and it collapsed. The story involves a toilet seat and is one of their better ones. 

“And so I–” Bokuto’s cut off mid sentence by the ringing of the bell as the door to the restaurant opens. He glances at the cash register and inwardly groans when his suspicions are confirmed–they close in 20 minutes. 

Akaashi stands, puts a hand on Bokuto’s shoulder. “Hold on. Let me take care of this.” He watches as Akaashi takes menus to the couple waiting by the long empty host stand and seats them. 

_ I am so screwed, _ he thinks, reaching to roll more silverware.

Akaashi makes his way back to the counter. Bokuto’s about to resume his story when Akaashi asks, “What really happened the night you came in with Kuroo?”

Bokuto laughs awkwardly. “Oh,” he says, and reaches for another napkin to keep his hands busy to cover how much he doesn’t want to tell Akaashi this. “You remember that? It’s not really a good story, Kuroo doesn’t know what he’s talking about.” 

He’s kind of hoping that Akaashi will read the tone in his voice and drop it–but when he looks at him, he’s watching him intently–Akaashi, who doesn’t pry, doesn’t usually  _ care  _ to pry–and Bokuto realizes that he doesn’t really have a way to evade this one. Bokuto’s face feels hot.

“Uh, yeah, okay so–” this is really not how he wanted this to happen,  _ this _ moment exactly– “it’s basically like Kuroo said–we came in for dinner, only Kenma wasn’t there, and we were deciding what to eat, right, and then you walked up and”–the silverware in his hands is almost a blur now, and it must be obvious that he’s refusing to make eye contact – “you looked really tired, which, looking back on it was probably because it was the end of happy hour and we were slammed that day, and–anyway–you looked tired, but I still. Thought that you were. Really hot.” Bokuto reaches for another set of silverware, only he’s rolled them all and now he has nothing to do with his hands, so he drags them through his hair and then covers his face with his hands, because it’s already  _ so embarrassing _ and it only gets worse from here. 

“Kuroo told me to get your number,” Bokuto says, voice muffled through his hands, and he can only hope that Akaashi still isn’t looking at him like that, all focused. “And then he left for the bathroom, and you walked up, but I chickened out and asked for an application to Antoine’s instead.” He says the last part in a rush, hoping that if he gets it out fast enough Akaashi will pretend he didn’t say it and they can pretend that this–and  _ that _ –never happened. 

He expects to hear Akaashi clearing his throat awkwardly, or maybe, his footsteps as he walks away and then the door to the restaurant opening, and then a click as Akaashi locks the door from the outside, and then lights the building on fire with Bokuto in it, because, really, being burned alive would probably be better than this situation right now–

He’s not expecting to hear Akaashi laugh. It’s a sound he doesn’t recognize, and at first he thinks he’s choking. Bokuto lowers his hands, so see Akaashi, head tipped back, laughing. The only customers are in outdoor seating, and the sound fills the empty restaurant and mingles with the gentle piano music that’s playing over the speakers.  

“I’m, not– laughing at you,” Akaashi breathes, and Bokuto just watches him, face still red, unable to look away, because Akaashi has never looked so  _ happy  _ in front of him, and it’s not something he wants to forget. 

“I’m sorry,” Akaashi says, once he’s stopped laughing. “It’s just–I would have thrown your number away. And now–” he exhales, smiles. “Do you want to get drinks after work?” 

“With Oikawa and them?” Bokuto asks, not daring to hope. 

“No,” Akaashi says simply, still smiling, “Just you and me.” 

Bokuto slumps, rests his head on the table. “Of course,” he says, and then sits up. “Of course!” 

“Good,” Akaashi says, and then grins and stands. “I’m going to check on my table.” 

Later, when they’re walking to their bar, pressed side to side on the narrow sidewalk, Akaashi says, “I’m glad you asked for an application. That day.” 

“Me too,” Bokuto grins, and for the first time, he actually is, no matter how embarrassing it is. His breath is visible in the winter air, and he feels the warmth of Akaashi’s hand through his gloves when he takes one of Bokuto’s in his own. Bokuto squeezes his hand, and then throws his arms around him. 

Akaashi returns the hug. “I’m really happy,” Bokuto breathes into his hair. “Really happy!”

“Me too,” Akaash says, his breath warm against the cold shell of his ear. 

His lips are cold, but Bokuto doesn’t mind if he gets to see the colored lights from the bar reflected on Akaashi’s cheeks, in his eyes, blue and red dancing off his hair. He doesn’t mind when they finally go into the bar, hands freezing. He doesn’t mind, not at all, when they slide into the same booth that they always do, sitting thigh to thigh. Winter has overstayed its welcome, at this point, but Bokuto doesn’t mind if that means Akaashi’s cold hand holding his, under the table. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I've been working on this fic on and off for probably like...two years or smth crazy like that, and thought it was time to finish it. Based on my experiences of working in a restaurant except only the good parts, and sadly i didn't kindle a romance with my beautiful coworker :,) one can dream 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it! please let me know what you think!


End file.
